and he heard her breath and then the click of her teeth as
if she broke the words in two.

"Don't be afraid, Lydia," he said. "I won't."

"I'm not afraid," she flashed.

"And don't talk of killing."

"You thought I'd kill myself. No. What would it matter about me? If I
could make you a little happier--not so lonesome--why, you might kiss
me. All day long. But you'd care afterward. You'd say you were outside."
There was an exquisite pity in the words. She was older than he in her
passion for him, stronger in her mastery of it, and she loved him
overwhelmingly and knew she loved him. "Now you see," said Lydia
quietly. "You know the whole. You can call me your sister, if you want
to. I don't care what you call me. I suppose some sisters like their
brothers more than anybody else in the world. But not as I like you.
Nobody ever liked anybody as I like you. And when you put your arms down
on the table and lay your head on them, you can think of that."

"How do you know I put my head on the table?" said Jeff. It was
wholesome to him to sound rough to her.

"Why, of course you do," she said. "You did, one of those first days. I
wish you didn't. It makes me want to run out doors and scream because I
can't come in and 'poor' your hair."

"I won't do it again," said Jeff. "Lydia, I can't say one of the things
I want to. Not one of them."

"I don't expect you to," said Lydia. "I understand you and me too. All I
wanted was for you to understand me."

"I do," said Jeff. "And I'll stand up to it. Shake hands, Lydia."

"No," said Lydia, "I don't want to shake hands." She folded the scarf
again about her, tighter, it seemed, than it was before. "You and I
don't need signs and ceremonies. Now I'm going back and read to Farvie.
You go to walk, Jeff. Walk a mile. Walk a dozen miles. If we had horses
we'd get on 'em bareback and ride and ride."

Jeff stood and watched her while he could see the white scarf through
the dusk. Then he turned to go along the river path, but he stopped. He,
too, thought of galloping horses, devouring distance with her beside him
through the night. He began to strip off his clothes and Lydia, on the
rise, heard his splash in the river. She laughed, a wild little laugh.
She was glad he was conquering space in some way, his muscles taut and
rejoicing. Lydia had attained woman's lot at a bound. All she wanted was
for him to have the full glories of a man.

XXXI

Alston Choate went home much